


Appetizer

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, In Public, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Jack insists Rhys attend a company dinner, even though his heat is right on the horizon.





	Appetizer

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small omegaverse pre-heat fic with Jack being a dick. Enjoy it :)

“How long is this gonna go on for?”

Jack doesn’t respond to it for a moment, too busy nodding along with his two wide smile, the kind Rhys hates because he pulls back his lips and shows the tips of his gums. It’s fake, this whole company dinner is fake, but usually Rhys would be able to enjoy the good quality of the food and the opportunity to dress up  _and_ see Jack put on the rare tuxedo.

He would be happily simpering alongside Jack, tolerating the tight grins and unnatural laughter at bad jokes, if he weren’t on the cusp of his god-damned  _heat_.

Jack had insisted he come despite the unmistakeable warning signs, not wanting to look awkward alone since they’d already reserved Rhys’ plate, but considering the omega knew of Jack’s—let’s say—inability to give a shit about what other people thought about him, he’d found that reason suspect. But in the end he’d gone along with it anyway after Jack promised he’d make it up to Rhys and give him the best heat-fuck of his entire life afterwards.

And he  _better_ , considering how uncomfortably warm and fidgety Rhys feels right now, like he’d wrapped himself up in several electric blankets and downed a gallon of coffee before even putting on his tuxedo.

“ _Jack_ ,” Rhys whispers his name again to try and get his alpha’s attention. Finally, Jack shifts away from the small talk he’d been making with the shareholder at his right hand, turning to Rhys. He lowers his voice, hand falling to his mate’s thigh.

“Kiddo, it’s not gonna be much more. Can’t you hold out just a bit?”

Rhys hisses, his thighs rubbing together in his seat. “No, I think I,  _literally_ , cannot.”

“Mind over matter, Rhysie, c’mon. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“Hah, funny, except I  _do_  mind very much, especially since you put  _your_  ego over my misery…”

“Miserable? That’s not what  _this_  says.” Jack brazenly slips his hand underneath the table and, learned from experience, falls right atop Rhys’ tented crotch. The hem of the white tablecloth covers up his indiscretion even as Rhys’ jolts, knee jerking up and hitting the bottom of the table. He gets a look from an older woman across the table but he dismisses her suspicion with a sheepish grin before distracting himself into his freshly poured glass of water.

“When we get back I’m going to ride your knot until there’s nothing left. You’re gonna shrivel up and away into space dust when I’m through with you,” Rhys mutters into his drink, the sheer heat coming from his breath fogging the glass. Jack grins like the snake he is and gives Rhys’ cock a sharp pat, and thankfully he’s braced himself this time so he only twitches a little bit.

“ _Stop it_ ,” Rhys growls a little louder, even as he tries to mask it by thumping his glass back against the table. Jack just smiles flatly, pretending innocence as he pets his crotch. Rhys knows he must be leaking pheromone like a sieve right now, and either everyone at the table is totally impotent or just really good at feigning politeness. If Rhys had been slightly more conceited, he might be insulted that his pre-heat scent wasn’t turning more heads, but as it is he just wants to get home and claim the attention of Jack and  _only_  Jack.

He bites back a whine. He crosses his ankles beneath the table and squeezes his thighs together, mistakenly trying to stifle the arousal but only bringing more friction to the offending area. He signals for more water from the waiter and drains it in a second.

 _Finally_ , Jack’s hand lifts from his bulging crotch, only to shift around his hips and settle at the small of his back. Suddenly, the fact that Jack had removed Rhys’ suit jacket  and hung it elegantly over the back of his chair seems a lot more devious, as the slight tail of his coat hangs low and hides Jack’s hand as he starts to untuck Rhys’ shirt from his waistband. The omega clenches his fist atop the table, horribly conscious of each bead of sweat that starts at his temple and trickles, agonizing, down beneath the collar of his shirt.

Jack leans in close to Rhys, turning and blowing the terrible warm breath over the omega’s ear that sends shivers all the way down to his tailbone, right to where Jack’s broad palm has settled under his hands, fingers snugly nestled between Rhys’ asscheeks.

“Relax, sugar,” Jack smirks against his cheekbone as Rhys does anything but, shuddering as the tips of his alpha’s fingers snake downwards.

“Tell you what.” Jack crooks his digit ever so slightly, and Rhys’ fingers clench into his napkin. “You make it to dessert, and we’ll call it a night.”


End file.
